


Don’t you dare throw that snowba–goddammit!

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)



Series: Spreading Positivity 2020 [11]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale Loves Stiles Stilinski, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, M/M, Snow, Snowball Fight, Snowfall, Stiles Stilinski Loves Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski is a Drama Queen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:02:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23355076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasterella/pseuds/isthatbloodonhisshirt
Summary: “You know what you need?”“Another blanket?” Stiles asked, pressing more into Derek because by God he was warm.“Hot chocolate.”Stiles perked up at that instantly, turning to look at his boyfriend. “You’d get me hot chocolate?”“No,youwould get yourownhot chocolate. We’re going out, get some clothes on.”
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Spreading Positivity 2020 [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1667605
Comments: 23
Kudos: 655





	Don’t you dare throw that snowba–goddammit!

“This is the worst,” Stiles said miserably, bundled up under a plethora of blankets and hunkered down on the couch. “The absolute _worst_. Nothing has ever topped this level of awful.”

“It’s not _that_ cold,” Derek insisted from beside him, amused. Clearly amused. Like, he wasn’t even attempting to _hide_ his amusement, the dick. He could have _some_ sympathy! Not everyone was a fucking Werewolf who didn’t feel cold! 

How was that even a Werewolf thing _anyway_?! Presumably wolves felt cold! If dogs could feel cold, wolves should also have the ability to feel cold, ergo, _Werewolves should also be susceptible to the cold_! 

“This is the _worst_ ,” Stiles insisted heatedly, turning to glare at Derek. “This is California, _Derek_. It doesn’t _get_ cold here. Just because your dumb ass moved to New York for a few years and got accustomed to that horrible, terrible season called _winter_ doesn’t mean the rest of the country has to endure such horribleness.” 

“Are you suggesting California doesn’t have winter?” Derek asked, still amused. _Still_ amused! He’d clearly learned _nothing_ in the past few seconds! Amusement was mean and unappreciated in light of the frozen toesicles and fingersicles and other various sicles! 

It was _cold_ , dammit! It was fucking _snowing_! In Beacon _fucking_ Hills, it was snowing! 

Hadn’t they suffered enough? With the Alpha pack and the Nogitsune and the Nemeton pulling all the beasties in their direction? Wasn’t that enough? Now they had to deal with _snow_ , too? 

Was there no compassion for the little guy? Not even a shred of mercy? Just a teeny, tiny little bit of kindness? Was that not warranted after everything they’d been through? 

On top of that, Stiles had an exam on Monday! He had to venture out into the great unknown that was now Beacon Hills given the ice and snow everywhere. The landscape had completely changed, he didn’t know where anything was, he couldn’t even find the _sheriff’s station_ if his life depended on it!

It was like a frozen, barren wasteland outside. Not another soul in sight. Everyone was hunkered down at home, where it was safe. Where the cold couldn’t get them, like the evil, horrible thing that it was. Safety inside, always. 

With blankets, and pillows, and sweaters and if some were lucky, a _fireplace_. All Stiles had was an amused Werewolf. Annoying. 

“Come on, it’s not _that_ bad,” Derek insisted with a chuckle, leaning over so he could press into Stiles’ side. 

Stiles only allowed it because it meant he could steal his body heat. He was still mad that Derek was making fun of him. He was but a mere Californian, okay! His body wasn’t made for snow, and the cold, and any of that other stuff. This was terrible. Horrible. _Unethical_!

“You know what you need?”

“Another blanket?” Stiles asked, pressing more into Derek because by God he was warm. 

“Hot chocolate.” 

Stiles perked up at that instantly, turning to look at his boyfriend. “You’d get me hot chocolate?” 

“No, _you_ would get your _own_ hot chocolate. We’re going out, get some clothes on.” 

Stiles spluttered incoherently when Derek kissed his cheek and stood up, evidently going to grab some clothes himself since the _asshole_ had just been lounging around in a long-sleeve Henley and some sweats. 

“I am not going out into that frozen tundra death-trap!” Stiles proclaimed loudly, turning to watch Derek disappear upstairs, absolutely _horrified_ he would even _suggest_ they venture outside during this absolutely dreadful weather. 

“Not even for hot chocolate?” Derek called from upstairs. 

“ _Especially_ not for hot chocolate!” he called back heatedly. 

Derek thought he could trick him. Stiles knew how he thought, he knew what Derek was doing. He thought he could trick him into going outside, so that Stiles would turn into a huge popsicle and Derek would be free to finish the last of the pie in the fridge that had Stiles’ name on it. This was his boyfriend attempting to commit _murder_! 

“My dad is the sheriff!” Stiles reminded him. “Your attempts to murder me shall not prevail!” 

“Stop being dramatic and put some pants on,” Derek called back. 

“Drama is my only setting!” Stiles shouted back. 

That only earned him a frighteningly accurate pair of pants to the face from the second floor. That shouldn’t have been possible, but Derek was a Werewolf so really, sure, why not. Add ‘scarily accurate throws’ to the list of unfair superpowers they had on top of super-strength, super-sight, super-hearing, inability to feel cold, super-healing, transformations, abs, really the list was endless at this point. 

“I don’t wanna go,” Stiles whined, even as he kicked the blankets off himself. Now that Derek had mentioned hot chocolate, Stiles _wanted some_. And Lord knew his asshole boyfriend trying to murder him over pie wasn’t going to get him some because he was a meanie poo-pants who would rather have pie than a wonderful man leeching his body heat at night in bed beside him. 

“Pie’s not worth it,” Stiles called out, shimmying out of his sweats and into the jeans Derek had tossed him. Were these his? They felt tight. Maybe he should cut back on the sweets. 

“Sometimes I really wonder what goes on in your brain,” Derek said, appearing behind him and dropping a shirt on his head. “Hurry up, let’s go.” 

Stiles made sure to grumble excessively while he got dressed, yanking off his hoodie to pull the shirt on before putting the hoodie back on. Really, he didn’t _need_ to wear a shirt, but layers. Layers were important when venturing out into the great unknown. 

“Is the Camaro even going to survive this trauma-inducing weather?” Stiles demanded while tugging on the literal only pair of boots he had. They weren’t even rain boots! They were legitimately ‘fashionable’ atrocities Jackson had bought him for Christmas one year that Stiles had thankfully never given away because _damn_ were they useful in snow! 

“We drove it here from New York, pretty sure if it survived the winters there, it can handle this literal dusting of snow here.” 

“This isn’t a dusting!” Stiles argued while following him out of the loft, tugging the door shut behind himself before moving after Derek down the stairs. “This is like, a snowstorm! This is a veritable end-of-days snowstorm!”

“It’s five centimetres, if that.” 

“The end is nigh!” Stiles insisted, flailing his arms, even as Derek just laughed at him and opened the door at the bottom of the stairs. 

The second he did, Stiles got hit with cold air and he stopped in the middle of the stairs. “Nope. No way. _No way_! I’m going back upstairs, there is no need for this torture!” 

Derek was beside him instantly, dragging him the rest of the way down the stairs and shoving him out the door. Stiles whined, hugging himself and hunching his shoulders. 

“This is abuse,” he muttered, trudging to the Camaro. “Pure and simple. You’re abusive.” 

“ _Now_ who’s being a sourwolf?” Derek teased from somewhere behind him.

“Don’t use my own words against me!” Stiles insisted, turning to point a finger at him. His next words died in his throat and his eyes widened when he found Derek standing a few feet back, carefully packing together some snow with his _bare hands_ to create a perfect, round little snowball. 

He glanced up when Stiles stopped talking, and the grin on his face was something Stiles hadn’t seen since before they were even friends. It was filled with mischief, and malice, and _evil_ , and Stiles was literally going to commit murder. 

“Derek. I love you. But if you throw that at me, we’re done, okay? I will break up with you so fast you’ll blink and find your car keyed.” 

Derek tossed the snowball in the air, the packed snow keeping its shape somehow—probably to taunt Stiles, like the asshole snowball it was—and caught it once more, still grinning in Stiles’ direction. 

“Derek, I mean it,” Stiles warned, moving quickly around the Camaro without taking his eyes off Derek. “I mean it! Don’t you _dare_ throw that snowba–goddammit!” 

Stiles let out a loud shout while jumping on the spot, snow slipping under the collar of his hoodie from the hit to the face. 

The _face_! Derek showed no mercy! And clearly wanted to be single! 

“You _dick_!” Stiles yelled, covering his hands with the sleeves of his hoodie and hastily making a snowball out of the packed snow on top of the Camaro. He threw it at Derek, missing him by about—a lot. He missed him by a lot. Derek almost doubled over laughing. 

Stiles stomped out from behind the Camaro, grabbed another handful of snow, and went right up to Derek so he could throw it at him. He didn’t even bother packing it into a ball, he just lobbed loose snow at him. That led to Derek grabbing his own handful and chasing Stiles around the Camaro, attempting to get it down the back of his shirt. 

After about ten minutes, Stiles felt like he was dying. He needed to work out more, he’d had thought all that running away from monsters thing would’ve helped in the workout department but he supposed he usually didn’t run for long, someone always found him before he got mauled. 

“Stop,” Stiles insisted, leaning against the car and tugging at the front of his shirt. “Stop, I’m dying. I can’t breathe. It’s so hot.” 

“Oh, it’s _hot_ , is it?” Derek asked, dropping the snowball he’d been holding and mercifully calling a truce, moving up to Stiles and wrapping his arms around him, smirking. “I’m sorry, what happened to this being a frozen tundra deathtrap? A veritable end-of-days snowstorm?”

“That was—I never said—you-you are taking things _out of context_!” 

“Mmhm.” Derek kissed his forehead. “Let’s go Mr. Popsicle, get you that hot chocolate.” 

“You are a lying liar that lies,” Stiles informed him, pointing a finger at him over the roof of the Camaro while he opened the passenger-side door. “So inappropriate. Trying to spread rumours.” 

“Get in the car, Stiles.” 

“Rude. Super rude.” Stiles climbed in and slammed the door, Derek starting the car beside him with a smile on his face. 

Okay, so maybe snow wasn’t _so_ bad, but he wasn’t going to tell Derek that!

The next time he found himself outside with snow and Derek, he needed to catch him _off-guard_ to get snow down the back of his pants. 

And he couldn’t let Derek know he and snow were friends now, or else he’d _never_ succeed. 

**END.**

**Author's Note:**

> Teen Wolf (c) Jeff Davis
> 
> Come chill with me on [Tumblr](https://isthatbloodonhisshirt.tumblr.com/).


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